Found this in one of my abandoned storygame projects. Reading it made me wanna die, and I'm sure you will, too!
It was too bad that Mission Control was not able to enjoy this fine day. It was summer time, the birds were singing, the breeze was breezing, and the grill-meat was frolicking. Not in a weird, so-moldy-it's-crawling, way, but because it had to have time to reproduce in between mass killings, so that people could continue to kill and eat it for generations to come. It wasn't even grill meat, technicall- Y'know, fuck it, I forgot where I was trying to go with this, animals were frolicking outside, though, okay? That's the point I was trying to get across. There's a lot of them, too. Like, 20 fucking animals. Someone should eat them or something, I mean, they're right fucking there.
But, Mission Control, as said earlier, was in no place, literally or figuratively, to kill any animals today. He was busy typing away at a supercomputer in a bunker capable of surviving a direct nuclear strike. Which is nice, of course, but Mission Control was starting to get bored of waiting for the next war to break out. After all, you can only play minesweeper or Solitaire on a supercomputer for so many hours before you realize you could have more fun doing nothing at all.
That was when the phone rang.
"This is the secret base, you're on speakerphone." Mission Control said, eager for human contact.
"Hello, dispatch!? This is Lt. Shirtsred. Something's very wrong!" said the voice on the phone.
"Please, call me Mission Control. It's what all my friends call me."
"Uhh, yeah, sure. Just send help, please!"
"What kind of help?"
"A portal to Hell just opened next to a hostile alien invasion site. We need all the fucking help we can get!"
"I see. Do you have any people in mind that you might prefer to put in the squad?"
"What? Squad!? Mission Control, this is a serious problem, Hitler is crawling out of one of the lava flows! We need fucking BATTALIONS!"
"Sorry, Lieutenant, but I'm Mission Control, not Militiary Dispatch. I only send in a squad of 3 to 10 badasses at once into highly improbable combat situations that they always win because they're the good guys. If you wanted a logical, realistic solution to your problems, you should have cal-"
Mission Control was interrupted by the Lieutenant's screams, and then an unearthly roar, and then the distinct sound of body parts being clawed off.
"Hello? Lt. Shirtsred?"
There was nothing left but a solemn, mourning dial tone.
"Oh my, this is very bad! A.I.M.Y.!"
A.I.M.Y.(Henceforth known as Aimy with lowercase letters, so you can tell whether people are yelling it or not.) was the name of the super-computer, a highly advanced AI with human emotions and reasoning. Her name stood for "Artificial Intelligence: Mathematical Yegg".
Promptly, an adorable screen avatar of a woman appeared in a new window. Aimy had a tired smile on her face, since she had just woken up. Mission Control often let her rest whenever he wasn't using the internet, because she really liked the idea of sleeping. It made her feel more human, which made her feel closer to Mission Control, which made her a lot happier, which made Mission Control a lot happier. Today she dreamed of gray, blocky fields that exploded into numbers and spikeballs, as well as playing cards stacking on top of each other in front of a gaudy green background.
"Hello, Mission." Aimy said to Mission Control, running through her usual pleasantries "The time is 4:12 in the afternoon, your weather forecast is-"
"Honey?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't call me Mission, alright?"
"Why not? I kinda like it..."
"I've just been called 'Mission Control' all my life, Mission just has a horrible ring to it... It would be like me calling you 'Aims'."
"Aims is a cute name! Could you call me that?"
"I could, but not in public. Aimbots are illegal, you know."
"Okay... How do you stand on other nicknames? What would we nickname our childr-...." Aimy's words ground to an uncomfortable halt.
"I don't know, it depends on their names, really." Mission Control said contemplatively.
"L-let's talk about what you needed me for..." Aimy said, overtly trying to change the subject. Mission Control chose not to pry, since she seemed especially uninterested in the concept of children... Or reproduction, for that matter. Mission Control had no idea why, but that was just the way Aimy thought, and he decided not to question or look into it.
"Well, Lieutenant Shirtsred called."
"Really? What did he say this time?"
"Uhh, the Lieutenant never called us before, Aimy."
"I suppose he did die during that last phonecall."
"Oh, you must be remembering Lt. Rederick Shirtz. He got killed during the dinosaur invasion of Tokyo."
"Nah, it wasn't him..."
"Anon Redsuit?"
"Not him either..."
"Private Gonnadie?"
"Nope..."
"Onescene Wonder?"
"Not ringing any bells."
"General Lee Diesforplotprogression?"
"No."
"Brutally Murdered Extra?"
"Isn't he still alive?"
"No, he's dead. It's a very common name around these parts, though, you'd be surprised how many of them litter the streets of disaster-prone areas... What about Colonel Standard? Were you thinking of him?"
"Nah, I think I'm thinking of Sgt. Slaughtered."
"Oh, him, poor guy... I just can't believe we weren't able to get to him before the robot gorilla army did. Who knew hydraulic fingers could do that to a man's bowels?..."
"We've had 57 missions so far, I don't think the caller's ever survived, though."
"Really? That sucks. I mean, of all the refugees we brought in, we never saved the person who called us. It's like God himself is killing them off to create tension."
"Is it working?" Aimy felt compelled to ask by some outside force.
"No, not at all. This is the 58th time!"
The frustrated narrator cursed under his breath and moved on.
"So, what did Lieutenant Shirtsred say?"
"Something about nazis, aliens, and demons. We need people who are skilled in killing those things."
"Lucky us, I found 5 on the database just now." Said Aimy, thinking at the speed of charged Quartz crystals, "Enough for a squad."
"Who are they?"
"Well... I don't have much info on them. There's a lot of red ink, too, but they're good, mostly."
"Uh-huh."
"The first one's a big authority on killing aliens. His name is Nukem Duke."
"There's no such person!"
"But that's what it says!"
"Sometimes the forms put the last name first, Aimy. It makes them look more official."
"Oh, then yeah, it's backward."
"Ah, I heard of that guy. Put him on the list. Who's the next guy?"
"William 'B.J.' Blaskowics, a super-soldier commando in the second world war."
"How the hell do you get a nickname like that if your name is William Blaskowics!?"
"Don't question it. The 40's was a time for silly names."
"Next guy?"
"We have three experts at killing demons, which is good, since they seem like especially dangerous animals. The first one's name is... Just Guy?"
"What kind of name is that?"
"I don't know. He's not very well documented. All I know is that he's a space marine."
"Aimy, I'm starting to think you're making this shit up."
"I'm not! My lie processors are off getting repaired."
"You don't have lie processors!"
"I know, I was lying." giggled Aimy, "Seriously though, his name is Guy, and that's all I can find."
"Well, that's not very helpful..."
"I also have a man named Lo Wang."
"Aimy, you're fucking with me."
"No, that's his real name!"
"When I call these guys, and call them by these names, are they gonna be pissed?"
"I mean, maybe if you mispronounce them?"
"Why does everyone have weird names!?"
"I dunno. But I also have Caleb!"
"Caleb who?"
"Just Caleb."
"Wha... What can you find on them?" Mission Control asked, rubbing his temples.
"Lo Wang is a famed vigilante from Chippon, and Caleb was a gunslinger on the American Frontier in the 1850s, until he showed up in the 90s for some reason. Probably Slavic gods, if you want my educated opinion."
"Hire them all."
"Alright. Should I hire Turok too?"
"Who's Turok?"
"A Dinosaur hunter."
"Why the fuck would we need a dinosaur hunter!? We have nazis, demons, and aliens, but no dinosaurs whatsoever!"
"He has a shotgun that fires exploding fragments!"
"So!?"
"I imagine that it kills more than just dinosaurs..."
"No. You have to realize that badasses are very expensive to hire, we shouldn't hire a dinosaur hunter unless we actually have a dinosaur problem."
"Alright, I guess that makes sense..." Aimy said thoughtfully. She readied her fax machine apparatus and started sending out notices to their new potential employees.
